In the Light of the Moon
by floug977
Summary: After a personal tragedy, Sister Bernadette struggles to pull her life back together and finds that she can find strength from someone who had been by her side all along. UPDATED 2/5
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Call the Midwife. This is my first Call the Midwife fic, hopefully more to come. This is an AU story, taking place during the second season. Sister Bernadette doesn't have TB for the purposes of this story. Please be aware this story revolves around a sensitive issue, please read at your own discretion. This story involves a sexual assault against one of our beloved characters, so please read with caution. Rated: K+ to T

Chapter One:

Sister Bernadette loves to take walks in the dark, especially after a delivery before she went back to Nonnatus House. She never considered herself to be of the selfish sort, but from time to time she needed to be away from the nurses and her Sisters. She needed to clear her head, get herself back to norm; especially after a delivery involving Dr. Turner.

She often finds herself flummoxed in his presence and scolds herself for letting her thoughts become so consumed of him. No matter how often she would scold herself, it didn't matter he was still there. And just when she thought she was rid of him, there were moments where he popped back in. Like after Sister Julienne had given her Timothy's drawing. Now she found if she wasn't thinking of Dr. Turner, she was thinking about his young son with whom she found she bonded. She always assumed she was a natural with children, and Timothy was no exception. She felt this unexpected pull to him unlike she had with any other child. She couldn't pinpoint or name the longing she felt, simply a desire for something more. Something she knew the religious life couldn't offer her.

Sister Bernadette makes her way over to the waterfront and stares out into the dark calm. She tries to settle her mind by taking a deep cleansing breath. She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths and just as she's about to open her eyes and return home, she feels a rough hand come over and cover her mouth. She begins to scream and then everything goes black.

Eyes open. She feels nothing but pain. Pain in her head, pain in her stomach, pain in her pelvis, a pain unlike anything she had ever felt before.

She groans as she takes in her surroundings. Her skin is covered in dirt and specks of blood and fear begins to take root in the deepest pit of her stomach. She notices she is in an alleyway with no other person in sight. She lifts a hand to her head; pulling it away it is covered in blood. It's then she realizes her wimple is off and lying in mud beside her. She feels her hair is wild and out of place. Looking down she realizes she is horribly exposed, her skirts torn and lying in a heap at her feet.

Despite the pain throbbing in her head, she quickly slips back into her skirts, covering as well as she can. That's when she begins to shake and she chokes on her sobs as she realizes exactly what has happened to her. She had been violated. Her essence, her purity stolen from her.

She stumbles, her head spinning so wickedly she needs to clamp her eyes shut so she doesn't vomit onto the pavement. Once she's certain the nausea is at bay, she slowly begins making her way back to Nonnatus. The streets are deserted and for that she is grateful.

By the time she reaches the house she no longer has the strength; as she reaches for the door she slumps against it, pounding on the door. She knows Sister Julienne is on call tonight, and she is the only one she wishes to confide her personal tragedy.

"Sister?" The calming and reassuring voice makes itself known.

Sister Bernadette turns to face the woman she had come to know and love like a mother and simply pleads, "Help me."

She can plainly see the shock on Sister Julienne's face and she wishes she could spare her surrogate mother this agony. She hides her face again and tries to burrow inside herself, but to no avail.

"My dear. Stay right here," Sister Julienne goes to turn to get help, but Sister Bernadette reaches out to stop her.

"No, Sister! Please. Just you. Please."

Sister Julienne contemplates and ultimately decides to honor her wishes. She could not imagine the trauma Sister Bernadette had endured and if she were in her place, she was sure she wouldn't have had the courage to come home.

Wrapping her arms around her, Sister Bernadette leans heavily onto Sister Julienne, trying to acquire some of her strength. They slowly make their way up the stairs and into the bathroom.

"At least let me call the doctor."

"No!" Sister Bernadette pleads. What would he think of her? He couldn't ever know what happened to her.

"You need a physical examination, Sister." Sister Julienne kneels down in front of her with a warm washcloth and begins to clean her face. "Sister, where are your glasses?"

She hadn't even realized they were missing; she was so focused on getting home. "I don't know," she cries out and this time she makes no attempt to hold in her sobs. They wrack her body and she begins to wail, not caring if she wakes all of Poplar.

The door opens and Trixie's blonde curls make an appearance. "I was just about to pop down for some tea. What's going … oh. my." She covers her mouth at the sight before her.

"Nurse Franklin, if you'd be so kind as to help me clean up Sister Bernadette."

"Of course Sister." Trixie closes the door behind her silently as to not wake the rest of the house and lays a supportive hand upon Sister Bernadette's shoulder and with great care; Trixie and Sister Julienne wash away the blood on her face. Trixie moves away to the bath and begins filling it with warm water.

"Sister," Trixie whispers, "what's happened to her?" she asks after they have stepped out to give Sister Bernadette some privacy.

"I cannot be completely certain, but Sister Bernadette _has_ been attacked. We must care for her. It is the least we can do."

"Shouldn't we call the police?"

"My main concern at the moment is Sister's well being and assurance of her safety."

"We should at least call Dr. Turner. She's already swelling to the size of a melon."

"She would not let me send for him, but perhaps we must. Call for him."

As Trixie makes her way back down to the phone, Sister Julienne knocks on the door before she enters the bathroom. The sight of the woman she considers to be a daughter nearly breaks her heart. There she is, sitting in the tub, her knees pulled close under her chin, arms wrapped around them as the tears flow endlessly down her cheeks.

"Sister, lean your head back," she encourages so she can begin to wash the blood from her hair. She's amazed to notice that even after ten years, her hair is still the beautiful auburn it was then. Now it is in disarray and coated in her thick blood.

Sister Bernadette complies and Sister Julienne takes up the canteen and carefully begins to wet the hair, rinsing out the blood. Sister Julienne prides herself on her experience and calm demeanor throughout all of the small tragedies she's helped others through, but now she feels anything but calm. There is a rage boiling through her at the person whom committed this senseless act against someone she cares for dearly. She thinks maybe she ought to give her words of comfort, however, they live their lives quite adept at silence, so she hopes her presence somehow will be enough.

It's then she noticed Sister Bernadette's clothes on the floor and that her undergarments are lined with blood.

"Sister, please forgive me, but are you on your cycle?"

Sister Bernadette turns to look at her through red-rimmed eyes. "No, sister."

"I see," Sister Julienne replies and blinks furiously to keep her own tears of sadness at bay.

A knock on the door alerts Sister Julienne as Trixie pops her head back in.

"Sister."

Sister Julienne rises to her feet and steps outside.

"Doctor is waiting downstairs. He seems very anxious."

"Nurse Franklin, I have reason to believe that Sister Bernadette has been raped. We must proceed with the utmost care."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I am so overwhelmed by the responses I've gotten from the first chapter. I was anxious to publish because of the nature and I'm glad you thought I had written it in a sensitive and tasteful manner.

This chapter was much more difficult for me to write, but I wanted to get it to you quickly. It turned out much differently than I had envisioned. This chapter involves a lot more detail of Sister's injuries. Be aware I am not a medical expert, so please forgive any discrepancies.

Disclaimer: I do not own Call the Midwife or these characters. Reviews are most welcome. As always with a subject matter such as sexual assault, rape and violence please use your discretion while reading. Rating for this chapter: T

Chapter Two:

Dr. Turner shuts off his car and sits for a moment, staring straight ahead, still reeling from the day he had. Being a doctor in Poplar had always been a challenge, one he had always welcomed, but lately it seemed as if his job was a burden and quite lonely. Of course he had Timothy, but ever since his wife had died almost two years ago, there was a void. One he didn't know how to fill.

He remembered his days back in medical school and he was considered an outcast to most of his peers. He buried himself in his books, trying to learn everything he could about the human body. He knew being a doctor wouldn't be easy, but it was his passion. It wasn't until he was in his mid 30s that he met his wife. He thought he had everything. He had his practice, a good life by all standards, but there was emptiness when he went home at night, but he thought that he was destined to spend the rest of his life alone.

Then he met Margaret Parker and his life changed in an instant. She accepted his life easily and wanted to be a part of it. Soon after they married, Timothy came along. He had always seen the joy in parents when he delivered their babies, and it wasn't until he held Timothy in his arms that he realized he had been missing half of his heart his entire life. Timothy was the reason he was alive in many ways and gave him a newfound purpose. He didn't know how to be a father, but he learned quickly, eagerly waking up for two a.m. feedings and changing all of the nappies he possibly could. Every night after coming home from work, he could plainly see the exhaustion on Margaret's face and he would relieve her as he snuggled Timothy for some father/son bonding time.

What he didn't realize is that was just the beginning for Margaret. It started with extreme fatigue and exhaustion. He should have recognized the signs, but by the time he had it was too late. The cancer had spread to her brain and was eating away at her quickly. Before he knew it he was left alone with his nine year old son. They both grieved heavily over her death, but never together and that was their downfall. He and Timothy grew apart for many months, and Dr. Turner was unsure of how to mend their broken relationship.

Sister Bernadette, in a way, was the glue that put him back together. It was in the hall of Nonnatus when he truly _saw _her for the first time. Of course, they had met, worked together, made little small talk, but he never really saw her as a woman. It was the moment she shared her own broken past with him, told him that children are more resilient. He saw truth and beauty in her eyes that he never noticed before. And from that moment on, he found himself with butterflies in his stomach every time he was around her. He was drawn to her, he couldn't help himself.

But she could never be his. He knew that. She had made vows to live a religious life, one that would never involve him. He was sure that the feelings were not mutual. She always shown him kindness and admiration, but that was the extent of it.

He snaps out his daze as he feels his eyes growing heavy and knows he must go inside to relieve the housekeeper. Timothy would long be asleep by now, but at least he could look in on his sleeping boy, find some peace for the chaos inside his mind.

The housekeeper leaves quietly and he makes his way up the stairs to Timothy's bedroom. He peeks his head in and looking at Timothy he sees more of Margaret in the boy than anything. The things he loves most about Timothy: his curiosity, his compassion all came from Margaret. The things he could do without such as his temper came from him. And they clashed at times, but he found once they had made amends, they became more than just father and son. They were best mates as they navigated life without Margaret.

Dr. Turner closes the bedroom door as his thoughts turned dark again. He didn't allow himself to think about Margaret nearly as much anymore. Now his thoughts revolved around a particular Sister and as much as he wished he didn't feel this way, he felt more alive than he had in ages.

Preparing for bed, he takes a copy of the Lancet and slipping under the covers, reads by the small bedside lamp. He might as well do something useful since he most likely won't be able to sleep. Sleep evades him now since she's also in his dreams. It's in his dreams where they can be together openly. He can say everything he wants to say, he can touch her without feeling as if he might go to hell.

The phone pulls him away from the sentence he's read at least a dozen times and he answers quickly so as not to wake Timothy.

"Turner here," he answers.

"Doctor, we need you to come to Nonnatus House right away," he recognizes Nurse Franklin's voice and notices it is quivering slightly.

"What is it?" he asks.

"It's Sister Bernadette." At this moment, he's sure he feels his heart stop beating altogether in his chest. "She's been attacked. Please hurry, doctor."

"I'll be right there."

He quickly gathers his coat and bag, not bothering to make himself the least bit presentable. The tightening in his chest continues, and he finds it difficult to breathe. He needs to see her. Just to be near her, make sure she was alive and safe would be enough.

He speeds through the streets and it's no matter because the streets are dark and empty and he makes it to Nonnatus in what feels like a lifetime, but is really only about three minutes.

He enters the house and Nurse Franklin is there to greet him. He anxiously looks about, searching for Sister Bernadette, but she is nowhere in sight.

"Wait here please, doctor," she says to him and leaves him in the parlor while she climbs the stairs.

He paces, his nerves fraying by the minute. He curses himself now for not remembering his cigarette case. Which just reminds him of that moment not so long ago after the Carter twins were born when he had shared his cigarette with her. After she had given it back to him, he didn't finish it. He respected her far too much.

"Dr. Turner," Sister Julienne appears on the stairs. "Sister Bernadette has been through a terrible trauma. I must prepare you. She looks most unlike herself."

He has to remind himself to think clinically. Sister Bernadette is a patient, just like all of the residents in Poplar. He is a doctor first and foremost. His patient needs him; this cannot affect him.

Sister Julienne knocks on the door to Sister Bernadette's bedroom and as Dr. Turner steps inside, he takes a quick look at her and stops dead in his tracks. His mouth gapes as he takes in her appearance on the bed. She is not wearing a wimple, but instead in its place is a white bandage wrapped around a full head of glorious light brown hair. He notices it is damp, and he wonders what it would be like to run his fingers through her hair.

Her face is heavily bruised. Her glasses are missing; her left eye is swollen shut and the ugliest shade of purple. Her lip is split, but no longer bleeding. There's a large bruise forming along her cheekbone, and he wonders if it is broken. The rest of her body is covered, but for her sake he hopes that the extent of the damage is limited to her face.

Sister Bernadette turns to face him and her healthy eyes goes dark. The blue orb no longer has that sparkle that first attracted him. She turns to Sister Julienne with a look of betrayal.

"You need an examination, Sister. I'm sorry I could no longer comply with your wishes."

Dr. Turner gathers his courage and wits about him, stepping fully into the room, placing his bag on the chair beside her bed, opening it and taking out his stethoscope.

"I'll step outside for a moment," Sister Julienne offers.

"No," Sister Bernadette lets out a strangled whisper. Her voice sounds so broken, and he wishes there were something he could say to be of comfort to her, but he can think of nothing. "Please stay."

Carefully so as not to frighten her he points to the bed, "May I?" She nods. So as not to jostle her, he cautiously sits beside her on the bed to begin his examination. She won't make eye contact with him, her eyes cast down on her hands. He thinks it may be a bit forward of him to sit on her bed, but more so than the examination, he needs to be close to her now.

His hands come up to her cheek and he tilts her face so he can get a better look. Anger ripples through from his core at the absurdity of this. How could something happen like this? He is not naïve he knows it is a common occurrence and this is not the first act of violence he has seen. But why her? The kindest soul he had ever encountered.

He quickly determines that the cheekbone is not broken, fortunately. It's the kind of bruise you would get from a punch to the face. With time, it will heal. He moves his hands to her swollen eye and she pulls away, wincing in pain.

"My apologies," he says brokenhearted that he had caused her additional pain.

Her other eye meets his for the first time and for a moment their mutual sadness makes a connection between the two, as if they are trying to heal one another.

"Did you hit your head?" he asks her, expecting her to nod, but her voice sounds more like normal this time. "I don't know."

He carefully unwraps the bandage and notices there is a gash, small, but he can tell by looking it was blunt force. She was struck by something, of what he was not sure. He was glad that it would not need stitches. He wraps the bandage back around her head, securing it into place.

"Where else, Sister?" he asks, hoping his examination had already concluded.

Sister Bernadette slumps down, fully horizontal now. She pulls up her bed sheet to cover the lower half of her body as she raises her nightdress to reveal her midsection.

Dr. Turner clenches his hands into fists and he can feel his fingernails digging into his palms to keep himself from screaming out in anger. Below, he can see there is bruising around her rib cage, probably the result of swift kicking. What disturbs him more than anything is the cuts and burns he finds along her stomach. The carvings are many, but small, not deep. The burns most likely from a cigarette.

He somehow manages to keep from vomiting right there in front of her. In all his dreams, he had imagined stroking her smooth, pale skin. He imagined himself kissing his way around her midsection, nipping and sucking teasingly on her delicious flesh. He hoped his dreams did not do her justice, although he knew he would never find out.

Now as she has revealed herself to him in the most horrific of circumstances, her flesh is tainted. He made a vow then and there to make the person who had done this to her suffer.

He looks back to her face and notices the tears are flowing freely and she can no longer face him.

He bends down and tenderly moves his hand over her ribs, and he knows he cannot possibly be gentle during this part. He needs to make sure there's no damage to her internally. And as he applies gentle pressure he hears her whimpering and his own tears begin to trickle. He glances at Sister Julienne and sees that she has turned her back on them and he knows she is also grieving for her Sister.

There appears to be no serious injuries, and he turns to put his stethoscope away. Sister Bernadette slowly lowers her nightdress and gingerly moves into a sitting position.

Sister Julienne turns around and moves over to her Sister, whispering into her ear. Sister Bernadette nods in response. "Doctor, would you please leave us for the next part of the examination."

He's sure he was finished. Confused, he nods and leaves the room quietly. Nurse Franklin is standing outside.

"How is she?"

"Her injuries are not serious or life-threatening, although they are repulsive. Why is Sister Julienne finishing the examination?" he asks her.

"Didn't she tell you?"

"No."

"She has reason to believe that Sister Bernadette has been raped, doctor."

Dr. Turner clenches his mouth, in a murderous rage stomps down the stairs and into the cold night air. He then proceeds to unleash his fury.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Thank you again for all of the reviews. I appreciate them because you are much less critical of me than I am of myself. This chapter is much shorter I apologize, but I hit a wall. I have a general idea of where I'm going with this, but I haven't written ahead I'm going day to day. Any ideas of what you would like to see let me know and I will try to incorporate them because I've been getting myself stuck. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Three:

After the examination, Sister Julienne sat with her sister to console her. Her fears had been confirmed. She had prayed that wasn't the case, but deep down Sister Bernadette knew what had happened without an examination.

She just wanted everything to be over with. Once all this fuss was over she could begin to move past this. She didn't want anyone else to know. She had been humiliated enough.

"Sister Julienne, I was wondering if I might convalesce in Chichester. I don't want to be a bother," Sister Bernadette asks.

"You're not a bother. But if that is what you wish."

"It is." She ponders some more. "I want to leave. Tonight. Dr. Turner can drive me."

"I'm sure it can wait a day or so."

"Sister, I'm ashamed and although I appreciate what you've done I would much rather keep this between the four of us."

"As you wish. I will go and make the arrangements."

Sister Julienne leaves the room and Sister Bernadette rises from her bed and gathers some of her things. Suddenly she cannot stand the sight of Nonnatus. Her pain, not too overwhelming, is a constant reminder of the attack. A part of her is extremely thankful that she was unconscious throughout the ordeal; if she had been conscious she wouldn't have been able to bear it.

She stops in her haste and turns to face her reflection in the mirror. She remembers back to the time not so long ago when she had stood in the very same spot, giving into her vanity. Now, she stares at her bruised face and doesn't recognize herself. She gingerly touches her cheek and eye socket and winces at the tenderness. She can no longer look at herself and turning away she sets about packing the remainder of her things.

A knock on her door disrupts her and she turns to see Dr. Turner enter alone. Neither of them needs to say anything, they are quite comfortable with the silence as they always have been. He walks over to her, holding a pair of glasses. "Sister Julienne said these are close to your prescription."

"Thank you doctor," she says most formally, slipping the glasses onto the bridge of her nose. They are her old glasses. Her prescription had changed slightly when she had gotten her new frames, so she had put these in the charity box for those who couldn't afford glasses. Now she's quite glad no one had claimed them.

He reaches for her bag, although it is not overly heavy. The only possessions she has in the world: a few pieces of clothing, a few books to pass the time and her Bible which she hoped would bring her comfort in the days to come.

She hides her face from him and he wishes that she wouldn't. She is perhaps one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever set his eyes upon, even in such a state he can see the beauty there. He longs to reach up and stroke her face, let her know that the bruises and pain will eventually fade away, but he knows he cannot.

Their close proximity is somehow enough as they both begin to breath in sync, each one bringing a calm peace to the other. The moment is broken as she walks forward and out of the bedroom, not once turning back.

After quick goodbyes to Nurse Franklin and Sister Julienne, they both settle into Dr. Turner's car and he turns up the heater to warm her.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asks her before he starts the car. He would feel much more at ease if she were to stay here, in Nonnatus House where he knew she would be under the care of people who knew and loved her. And of course, he could pop in to check on her as well.

She nods slightly, sure of the decision she's made and he longs to hear her voice again. They had never had many conversations, but the ones they did have been quite short, but enjoyable nonetheless.

Arriving at Chichester, he hands her bag to her. The sun is beginning to rise over the horizon and he chooses this moment to raise his hand to her face once more, one last examination, one more excuse to touch her.

She closes her eyes, relishing in his touch because she knows she may never feel this again. She needs to hold onto this feeling and remember it always. She feels herself leaning into his touch, but stops herself before she gets too carried away.

"Ice will help the swelling. As often as you can. And rest," he orders.

"Thank you, doctor. You've been…" she pauses trying to find the right words, "more than kind." As soon as she utters the words she turns to enter the home. He stands there, watching her until she is out of his sight and even then he sits in his car for several moments to compose himself before he drives away, hoping to one day return here to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I had a "snow day" today so I got some writing done! Enjoy this update. Hopefully more to come in the next few days.

Chapter Four:

A week had passed since the attack and Sister Bernadette had become accustomed to life in Chichester. She kept to herself, spending most of her days in her room, away from the other Sisters to avoid the questioning stares and glances of pity. She didn't want to be felt sorry for. She wanted to heal and return home, back to her work. She knew once she went back to midwifery, she would throw herself into it fully, with no time to get lost in her measly thoughts. Over the past week, those thoughts had festered.

She thought a lot about what had happened, but more about the supports she had in her life. She had her Sisters, with whom she shared most things, but she had kept some secrets to herself. The more time she had spent with Dr. Turner, the more she had found she had begun to reveal those secrets to him. She told him of her mother's untimely death and sneaking her father's cigarettes. Those are things she didn't speak of to anyone, but she found herself confiding in him.

The more she thought about it, she was happy to have someone other than her Sisters to speak to, but it was for the wrong reasons. She was eager to see him each and every day. When she awoke, it was him she thought of. Then there were the dreams. He was there in every one. These confused her more than anything because she was dreaming of a life she had not chosen to lead. She envisioned herself as a wife, a mother. She had always had similar dreams growing up and when she had first pledged to lead the religious life, but they had slowed and eventually stopped about a year later. The face of the man in those dreams was always unclear, never in focus. Now it was clear. Dr. Turner was the man she envisioned this new life with. He was her husband, the father of her children. And what scared her even more was that she liked the dreams. She often woke with a smile on her face. But that is a life that can never be, but the dreams are enough.

'For now,' she thinks to herself.

A pile of letters arrived for her two days after she arrived. There was a detailed letter from Sister Julienne, detailing the fictional story she had told the other Sisters and the nurses. She wrote of her assurance that she and Nurse Franklin had kept her confidence. She hated that Sister Julienne was committing a sin for her, but she didn't know what would happen if the others knew. Would she be released from the order? Where would she go? What would she do? No, it was better if no one else knew.

There were letters from Sister Evangelina and even Sister Monica Joan, each wishing her a speedy recovery, hopeful for her return soon. Trixie's simple letter to her warmed her heart.

_Dear Sister,_

_So much has happened since you went away, but I don't expect that you would appreciate much gossip at a time like this. Everyone here is so very out of sorts, especially Dr. Turner. I think he may be sweet on you._

_Please recover quickly and return home to us, so everyone might be less miserable._

_Trixie_

When she got to Timothy's letter tears began to spring of their own accord. It nearly broke her heart.

_Dear Sister Bernadette,_

_Dad told me that you were hurt and that you needed to go away to get better. I miss seeing you at the clinic. I wish you were here because then maybe my dad wouldn't be so sad. It's like Mummy has died all over again. You would know exactly what to say to him to make him feel better. Because I can't. I hope you feel better soon._

_Sincerely, Timothy Turner_

Trixie and Timothy were not the only two to refer to Dr. Turner in their letters. Others had mentioned that he seemed fatigued and was most certainly not himself. She always concerns herself with others' well-being, and numerous times she has in essence taken care of Dr. Turner. She has stood in defense of him, has made sure he has a cup of tea and something to eat when he works late, she's even sewn buttons onto his doctor's coat. It's more than she's done for others, she will admit, but he is different. She has this need to take care of him, to show in small ways that she does care. He's done things for her as well and she feels herself blushing at even the slightest glance in her direction. When she steals her own glance she cannot help the grin that graces her face.

On the third day of her stay, there was only one letter for her in the post. She recognized the writing instantly as Dr. Turner's and her breath caught in her throat, coming out in a sharp gasp. She fingered the envelope carefully, weighing whether she should open it or not. She got another letter the next day. And the next. And every day for the rest of the week. Now she sits on her bed, looking at each of the letters. She has a feeling as to what he has written her and she doesn't want to read it. That would make it all the more real and she cannot allow herself that. It's a luxury that she is not privy too.

A knock on her door sends her scrambling to hide the letters, but Trixie makes her way into the room before she has a chance to get them out of sight. "Oh my, what must I have walked in on?" Trixie asks with a smile on her face which puts Sister Bernadette at ease.

"Oh, nothing. This is quite the surprise."

"I was granted an unexpected day off and I thought I'd come see my good friend Sister Bernadette," she says but Sister Bernadette can see there was an ulterior motive for this visit.

"Is that all?" she asks.

"You're healing very nicely I see. How are things here at the mother house? Positively boring I'm sure."

"Oh not as boring as you would think," Sister Bernadette replies.

"Not much to gossip about in a convent," Trixie says, trying to decipher Sister's meaning. Sister Bernadette cannot hide her face, full of confusion and pain over her unique situation. "Sister? Are you all right?"

"Trixie, have you had many gentlemen callers?" Sister Bernadette asks.

Trixie looks perplexed for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "Well…"

"I didn't mean it that way. I mean … how can you be certain that there is interest? From a man?"

"Oh. I think I see."

"You do?" Sister Bernadette asks, quite breathless. She feels her face redden from embarrassment. "Perhaps you should forget I even asked."

"Oh no missy. You're not getting off that easily. Sister, I think the more important question is if you have interest in a man."

"I am dealing with a great test from God. That's all it is. It shall pass."

"He misses you just as much as you miss him."

"He does?" she asks hopefully.

"Trust me. He's been an absolute nightmare since you left. He mopes around like a lost puppy dog. And you, although your injuries have healed nicely, still look positively ghastly."

"Why thank you Trixie. The truth is I think I want things that the religious life cannot give me. I feel as if I've just been living the wrong life."

"Sister, it's never too late to change your life. If you want something, you have to take it."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

"Dad! Dad! It's a letter from Sister Bernadette!" Timothy exclaims. Dr. Turner turns from his task to his son, wondering if there might be a letter for him as well. It had been over a week since he had sent his first letter and he had not received a response.

He wondered if she even read his letters. He sent quite a few. When he sat down to pen the first letter, he sat for a good ten minutes trying to come up with the proper greeting. He rewrote each letter at least five times before he felt that it was finished. He knew he was being forward and growing bolder with each letter he wrote, but he couldn't help himself. The longer he went without her, the more desperate he was becoming. If he didn't have the courage to say these things now he knew he never would.

"What does she say?"

"Timothy, thank you for your kind letter. I should be home before you know it. I apologize for leaving so suddenly and without saying goodbye. I look forward to our chats when I return. Thank your father for his letters. I will respond to them in due course. Sister Bernadette."

"Is that all?" Dr. Turner asks.

"I'm sorry Dad. I really thought maybe she would write to you too." Dr. Turner notices the sadness on his son's face and puts on a fake smile for him.

"That's nothing for you to worry about. Get your things I'll drop you at school."

He picks up Timothy's discarded letter and caresses the paper in his hands, imagining in his mind her form as she composed the letter. He can see her hands, carefully and meticulously putting pen to paper.

He regrets that he has not been to see her, but he knows if he did visit he was likely to never return, the need to be with her too great. But he must respect the life she has chosen. If he didn't accept that he wouldn't deserve to live. He would just live out the rest of his life, hoping to catch glimpses of her, dreaming of the life he couldn't have with her, living the rest of his life in misery.

He forces himself to put his briefcase together for another day and heads out to his car to take Timothy to school. Once at the surgery, he receives a call from Nurse Franklin. A mother with a difficult delivery. Prolapsed cord. Most likely the baby will need to be delivered using forceps. A doctor's work is never done.

The delivery runs much smoother than he expected it would, and after taking care of both mother and baby he and Nurse Franklin left the home, each lighting their own cigarette.

"I went to visit Sister Bernadette yesterday," Trixie says quite coyly, catching Dr. Turner's reaction in her peripheral vision.

"Did you?" he asks, taking a deep puff. "How is she?"

Trixie smirks at how eager the doctor is for information. "She's quite well. Her bruises are healing rather nicely. Barely noticeable anymore."

"That's marvelous. Did she say when she might be returning?"

"Not quite yet. Maybe another week or so. She is rather anxious to return home. I can't imagine what it must be like there. Well, I better be off. Good day, Dr. Turner." Putting out her cigarette, Trixie mounts her bicycle and rides off, leaving Dr. Turner in a rather elated state.

Meanwhile, Sister Bernadette walks the garden with Sister Julienne. After careful thought, meditation and prayer, she has made her decision.

"Is something troubling you, Sister?" Sister Julienne asks.

"Something has been plaguing me for quite awhile, I'm afraid," Sister Bernadette replies.

Silence ensues until Sister Julienne figures she must do a little prying. "You know you should feel able to speak to me about anything."

"I am not sure how you will take this, Sister." Sister Julienne takes her hand, squeezing in encouragement with a smile on her face. "For a long while I've felt that I was in the wrong place. Like I didn't fit at Nonnatus. I realized that there are things I want that I can't have in the religious life. I've decided to leave the order."

"Have you experienced a loss of faith, Sister?"

"No. If anything, my faith has only grown stronger."

"My dear, I want you to reconsider. Are these feelings stemming from your attack?" Sister Julienne asks cautiously, not meaning to bring up nasty emotions, but to ensure that Sister Bernadette has thought of all aspects of her decision.

"That is a factor also, yes. I am no longer pure and it would be wrong for me to continue on as if I am not, even if it was not of my own free will. But more than that Sister, even before the attack, I was having feelings."

"Confusion? Questioning? We have all gone through those periods, I assure you. They do pass with time and prayer," Sister Julienne replies peacefully.

"They haven't gone away. And I know they never will. I am no longer happy as Sister Bernadette. I long for a different life. I'm sorry if I've upset you."

"I am saddened to be losing you. But all I want is you to be happy," Sister Julienne says with tears in her eyes as they share an embrace.

"Thank you Sister. Will you tell the others?"

"Of course. I will also send you some clothes. When you're ready you may come and complete the necessary paperwork."

The visit is over quickly, Sister Julienne bidding her goodbyes. Sister Bernadette knows she has offended her and that it will take some time to get used to. She feels as if she's betraying them, turning her back on them when they so desperately need her. Not to say that she doesn't need them, but there's someone out there she loves more. She can't help but smile at the fact that her life is just beginning anew. Heading back to her room, she pulls out Dr. Turner's letter. Taking the first, she tears the envelope open and eagerly pulls the paper out.

_Sister,_

_Please forgive the sheer awkwardness of this letter for I am unsure of how to even begin. I suppose I shall start from the beginning and that is to say that I care for you very deeply and have for a long while. I cannot say when it was that my admiration turned to a longing, but ever so slowly it has festered in me and I can no longer keep it at bay. I would shout it from the rooftops if I were able. I know these feelings of mine are not ones that you can reciprocate. I have destined myself to live a life full of heartache, but I would rather that than disrespect you in any way._

_Words cannot express all that is in my heart and the written word will have to be enough for now. Please know that I have such a rage in me for the person who dared laid a hand upon you, but what happened will never change my views about you._

_If you do not write back I will understand._

_Dr. P Turner_

_P.S. Rest and ice. Doctor's orders_

She smiles as she reads over his words once more. He feels the same as she and for the first time, she knows she's made the right decision. That she wants to spend the rest of her life with this man whom she had grown to love deeply. Turning to the other letters, she grabs the next one eagerly.

All of his letters are similar in nature. She can tell he's trying hard to say what he longs to say without saying too much. By the time she's finished reading his letters ten times over, she knows she's ready to return home. To him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six:

Dr. Turner is distracted. His thoughts never seem to be at rest lately and he knows exactly why. To be honest, he was unsure of whether she would write back or not. He thought there was a good possibility that she would. He meant what he said that if he didn't receive a response that he would understand. And he does. It was too much to ask for that she reciprocate any feelings. When Timothy received his letter and she mentioned that she would respond within due course it gave him some small thread of hope.

He doesn't know what he expects her to do. He wants a life with her, but he can't ask her to leave her whole life behind for him. What kind of man would he be if he did that? Maybe he could move away from Poplar. As a doctor, he can find employment anywhere and Timothy could make new friends and start over in a new school. They could be happy.

Who was he kidding? He wouldn't be happy in either scenario. He would not be happy if he couldn't at least see her every day. Even if that life could never be, he could find strength in their proximity.

He now found himself smoking at least twice as much and drinking a bit more when he was home in the evenings after Tim had gone to bed. It was enough to take the edge off and numb his emotions. He would rather feel nothing than feel this incredible ache in his heart. But no matter how numb he was he was unsuccessful. She was still there in the forefront of his stupor. He never drank enough to be completely inebriated and it was never enough to erase her from his mind.

He goes about his day, seeing his patients and they can all sense he's not as mindful as he usually is. He interprets lab results and even gives a woman the horrible news that she is unlikely to ever carry a child successfully. That's the part he detests about his job. And with doctor/patient confidentiality, there is no one he can share his burdens with. Even when Margaret was still alive, she didn't ever really want to hear about his patients; she didn't let it affect their personal life. Then with Sister Bernadette he found they had common ground. They had both lost mothers and babies, felt the same overwhelming sense of helplessness that came with it. Even if he couldn't get specific with her, knowing she understood was helpful.

Day turned into night. Timothy had arranged for a boys' night with a couple of the Cubs so he had the entire evening to himself. So he tried to throw himself into his work. Distracted as he was, he would rather be trying to do something rather than sit alone in his home with nothing to occupy him. Sitting at his desk in the surgery, he made notes on several of his patients and was going over his schedule for the following day.

When he felt his eyes growing tired he rubbed them, trying to wake himself up enough to get himself to his own bed. Grabbing his coat and briefcase he began making his way to his car.

"I was wondering what kept you," a voice came from behind him.

Turning to the voice he almost didn't recognize her. She had a new pair of spectacles which framed her face so nicely. He saw trace evidence of her bruises; Trixie was right they had healed quite nicely. On the exterior, she looked so different. Her clothing dated, she was finally out of the habit. She was breathtaking, being able to see her as more than just Sister Bernadette.

His jaw dropped as he really took all of her in. His dreams were slowly becoming a reality. She was here with him, no longer obligated by the religious life. He felt as if all of a sudden he could see into her soul so clearly. She was the same person she had always been, but like a piece of her had come alive again. The part that would only ever be his.

"Say something," she pleaded with him.

"I would have come to get you. You shouldn't have taken public transport," he argued, trying to scold her for being careless, but he couldn't pull it off.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," she argued, smiling at him.

"Sister," he started but she immediately cut him off.

"Forgive me, but I no longer answer to that name. Shelagh," she said, holding her hand outstretched to him as if to make a new start.

"Patrick," he shook her hand and kept ahold of it. "I wrote to you."

"Yes."

"Did I say too much?" he asked, praying to whatever God was out there that he hadn't scared her off.

"You said what was necessary," she said and he could feel that they were gravitating closer and closer, nearly bumping into each other. They stood there just staring into the other, trying to make up for all of the forbidden glances; all of the time they had lost being so foolish.

"You left the order?" he asked her incredulously.

"Yes. I wanted something more. The man I love," she answered simply.

Picking up her hand he easily spots the scar that graces the palm of her hand and remembers how rash he had been before, right after she had won the three-legged race with Timothy. There was a plethora of emotions flooding through him that day. He hated being called away from Timothy. He barely got to spend enough time with him as it was, but when he had become a doctor he knew he was giving up a large chunk of his life. Timothy didn't resent him for it; he had learned that no matter what was going on, his dad would still always be there for him. But there were some days where he wished he wouldn't be interrupted for his son's sake. When he saw Sister Bernadette with him it had warmed his heart that she was willing to take up his place. He was overwhelmed by his feelings for her and he couldn't help himself.

She hurt her hand and he followed her, more to thank her for doing what she had, but then he was gone. He didn't think, he just acted on pure impulse, damn the consequences. He took her hand, carefully examining it before leaning his lips and touching them for the briefest of moments before she pulled away. Now there was nothing holding either of them back. He leaned down to her hand again, pressing her lips directly to the scar and this time she allowed him to do so, even going so far as to take her other hand and raising it to his face, stroked him tenderly.

"Are you staying at Nonnatus?" he asked her.

"I cannot. I don't deserve their hospitality. I have a room."

"Oh no you don't. You're coming with me. Timothy will be glad to see you."

When she walked into the Turner house, Timothy immediately embraced her as if nothing had changed. He took to calling her Auntie Shelagh very quickly, instinctually knowing that she was now going to be in his life indefinitely.

Of course she had stayed on the couch in their home, she wouldn't let him give up his bed for her. She knew how uncomfortable he would be and he had given her an old shirt of his to wear over her dress slip.

The next morning she thought she might feel a sliver of regret, maybe a panging feeling of wanting to return to the only home she had ever really known. But she felt none of those, instead she felt incredibly happy. Happy to have chosen this new life and she couldn't wait for the next part of it.


End file.
